His mouth curved into a thin smile. “I'll be making sure no one notices that Severus has gone missing for half a day. I'll make an appearance of having tried to run with you, and leave another Death Eater to be found, who will be assumed to be the secondary party involved.” He sighed. “It was supposed to be Montague, given his known fascination with you. But there are other options I have in mind now.” He shrugged. “It's a minor detail either way.”
“What happens to you?” Hermione said again.
He met her gaze seriously. “I won't be captured, if that's what you're worrying about. I have too much information to risk interrogation.”
He glanced down and appeared to be inspecting the polish on the toes of his shoes. “Don't worry. It'll be quick." He looked up at her with a faint smile. "I'm rather good at making it quick.”
Hermione's mouth twisted, and she turned away and went over to the window.
She'd thought she'd run out of tears during her imprisonment beneath Hogwarts, but now she found herself constantly fighting them back.
She could feel him walking up behind her until his robes brushed against hers. She pressed her hand against the window and stared despairingly out across the estate.
It was a cage. The open sky and rolling hills were an illusion of freedom. In all the time she'd known him and been his prisoner, he'd been more chained in place than she was.
“I don't want you to die, Draco.”
His left hand slipped around her waist and rested against her lower abdomen. She pressed her lips together, but her jaw still trembled.
“Draco—” her mouth twisted, and her cheekbones felt hollow and ached. There was a shriveling sense of despair in her chest. She dropped her forehead against the cold glass, “Don't — don't — I don't want you to die...”
“I know.”
He slipped his other arm around her shoulders, and she pressed her cheek against the back of his hand.
She gripped the hand over her abdomen, and they stood in silence until he sighed and straightened. “I have to go. With Astoria here too — it's not worth the additional risk.”
Hermione looked down at the floor and nodded. Her throat catching with guilt. They'd had less than a month, and she'd spent it researching. Now — the little bit of time left was cut short.
He withdrew his hands, and she felt him vanish.
He still came that night. After the lights in the manor were out, he appeared in her room.
“Well, my father and Astoria have met.” He rolled his jaw as he pulled off his outer formal robes. “He likes her even less than I'd expected. I suppose it would be more unfortunate if they seemed to like each other, but the antagonism over dinner was tedious in a matter of minutes.”
The corner of his mouth quirked upwards for a moment before his expression closed again.
“You can be here now?” she asked after a moment.
He nodded. “I'll know if they come to my door. It's more likely to be my father wanting a drinking partner than Astoria expecting to share my bed.” He seated himself on the edge of the mattress.
Hermione's chest tightened and she looked down at her hands. Astoria's return to the manor placed a certain emphasis on Draco's presence beside Hermione in bed.
He was married. He had a wife.
Yet here he was in Hermione's bed because she was — his mistress.
Or sex slave. That was her intended function, as a surrogate and sex slave.
Disregarding her imprisonment, she was still categorically his mistress.
She looked up to find Draco studying her and forced a smile. “No, I don't suppose she will.”
They slept face to face. He held her almost crushed against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek.
He sat up in the middle of the night.
“My father's wandering the manor,” was all he said before he apparated away without a sound.
He didn't reappear until after lunch to “walk” Hermione. He was visibly tense and didn't make any effort to converse as they strolled through the gardens. There was an additional sense of dread seated low in her stomach as they walked among the blooming roses. He kept scanning their surroundings and eyeing the manor, as though he expected an explosion to emanate from it at any moment.
“Draco!” Astoria's sharp voice cut through the air.
The corner of Draco's mouth lifted briefly as he turned to meet his approaching wife.
Astoria was pale-faced, but the hollows of her cheeks were stained red. She stormed through the garden beds. She was impeccably attired in pale green robes splashed with scarlet detailing. As she got closer, Hermione noticed that the hem and her shoes were scarlet red as well.
“Draco — Draco — this is — unacceptable!” Astoria appeared to be on the verge of tears and nearly at a loss for words. “Intolerable. Obscene. I don't even—”
When she was within a few feet, Hermione realised Astoria's robes were not detailed with red, they were spattered and stained.
As though she'd walked into a pool of blood.
“What is it, Astoria?” Draco drawled the question.